When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder
When the roll is called up yonder
And my hunting days are done
Leave me lay out on some hillside
Where the ole red foxes run
Leave me lay back from the hillside
Where the traffic sounds are not
Where the noisy sounds of progress
Cannot reach my resting spot
Make it where no greedy grasping hands
Will reach to grasp their fill
Make it where all greed's a stranger
On some quiet peacefull hill
Make it by a speckled trout stream
On a hill that greets dawn's sun
Where dedicated houdsmen
Will bring their hounds to run
Make it by some hardwood forest
So that in the fall
The colored leaves will caress this spot
Where from the frost they fall
Leave me lay beside the game trail
Where the mightiest whitetail trod
Let it be where just the mightiest
Leave their hoof print in the sod
And make it where the cross winds
Will blow which ever way
It takes to bring the baying sounds
Of the hounds that pass that way
Make it where the warming sunshine
Brings the earliest signs of spring
Leave me lay beside the tallest elm
Where first the robins sing
Make it far back in the country
When to rest you lay me down
Leave me lay there ever after
'Neath the peaceful country sound
- hunter, poet, and songwriter
____________________________
from John Miller's
DEER CAMP
(MIT Press 1992)
